We gathered everything we could on their conquest, population statistics, pictures of their forces mobilizing, everything. We meant it to be a rallying point for the stragglers, but when the Brudeah joined the Alliance, we realized this could be our saving grace."
"Enslavement of a sovereign race is illegal," Fehr says, and Vance nods.
"Exactly."
"Who is 'we'?" I ask.
Vance looks shifty. "The remaining people who were our contacts with the outside world before they were either captured or killed, and myself and the other Director of the Project. He is wary of people."
I want to press, but don't. "So?"
"So the Project—Project Áed—truly came to be. It means fire, and we meant to burn away the Brudeah's hold on us."
Sharp laughter fills the air and I flinch despite myself. Jheghda, his personal guard, and Njande come striding into the room, dragging the guards Fehr set.
"You will never be free of us," Jheghda says. Gone are his silk robes and glistening jewelry, replaced by practical clothes and a long knife, his long hair bound in a braid. Njande immediately separates from the group to walk along the outer edge of the room. Magnus keeps a gun on him, but Njande just grins as the other assassins shove our men at us.
"We're going to prove we're a sovereign race," I say. "You can't stop us."
Jheghda scoffs. "We will raze this building before the Vrah'di get here. And you're in our way." One of his men raises a gun, and beside me, Fehr and Jedn lift theirs. I tense, unsure of which way to turn, and the guns click, loud in the still air.
"The fuck—"
"All weapons are automatically disabled upon entering the sanctum," Vance says. The silence is deafening for a heartbeat before everyone throws their guns and charges. I yank my spare knife out of its sheath just in time to catch Njande's sword as it comes down above me.
I grunt with the effort of pushing him away and he laughs as he darts back in. The strike I block rattles up my arm and I grit my teeth, twisting to avoid the kick Njande aims at my knee. I've been sparring with Njande for years, but it was never like this.
I trip over a body when I back pedal to try and get some room between us and have to scramble out of Fehr's way when he lunges at another of Jheghda's men. I crash into a table and scramble up and over it when Njande's sword comes slashing down. The clash of metal against metal is lost under the sounds of battle and I roll back under the table and lunge at his knees, tackling him to the ground.
He tries to sit up as I fumble with my knife, but we both slip in the blood coating the floor. He brings his knee up at my chin and my head snaps back, blood immediately filling my mouth. His sword flashes in the light and I shove wildly at his leg and wrap my free hand around his throat.
"No!"
"Line up, 14C-6."
My brothers and I fall into line behind the Overseer. There are men in the room, seated and chatting between themselves. The Overseer walks past us and we keep our heads respectfully lowered, our hands clasped together in front of us.
"These are the males from the 14C line," the Overseer says. "14C-6-1 through 7 are our sixth crop mean to better suit needs similar to yours."
"There are eight men here," one of the men says, his voice soft.
"6-8 here is a natural mutation. Normally, we sterilize mutations falling outside a certain tolerance of the genetic code, but every so often comes a mutation the geneticists want to cultivate."
"What's the mutation?"
I glance up even though I know I shouldn't, at the man with the honey-sweet voice, and catch his eyes.
"Oh," the man says. "Come here." His tone brooks no argument and I'm moving forward before I can tell myself to stop. There's a glass of dark wine in his hand, and his long black hair is bound in a braid over his shoulder. His eyes are completely, unrelentingly black. I've never seen eyes like that.
I drop to my knees in front of the man, close enough to touch. "What's your name?"
"We
"Enslavement of a sovereign race is illegal," Fehr says, and Vance nods.
"Exactly."
"Who is 'we'?" I ask.
Vance looks shifty. "The remaining people who were our contacts with the outside world before they were either captured or killed, and myself and the other Director of the Project. He is wary of people."
I want to press, but don't. "So?"
"So the Project—Project Áed—truly came to be. It means fire, and we meant to burn away the Brudeah's hold on us."
Sharp laughter fills the air and I flinch despite myself. Jheghda, his personal guard, and Njande come striding into the room, dragging the guards Fehr set.
"You will never be free of us," Jheghda says. Gone are his silk robes and glistening jewelry, replaced by practical clothes and a long knife, his long hair bound in a braid. Njande immediately separates from the group to walk along the outer edge of the room. Magnus keeps a gun on him, but Njande just grins as the other assassins shove our men at us.
"We're going to prove we're a sovereign race," I say. "You can't stop us."
Jheghda scoffs. "We will raze this building before the Vrah'di get here. And you're in our way." One of his men raises a gun, and beside me, Fehr and Jedn lift theirs. I tense, unsure of which way to turn, and the guns click, loud in the still air.
"The fuck—"
"All weapons are automatically disabled upon entering the sanctum," Vance says. The silence is deafening for a heartbeat before everyone throws their guns and charges. I yank my spare knife out of its sheath just in time to catch Njande's sword as it comes down above me.
I grunt with the effort of pushing him away and he laughs as he darts back in. The strike I block rattles up my arm and I grit my teeth, twisting to avoid the kick Njande aims at my knee. I've been sparring with Njande for years, but it was never like this.
I trip over a body when I back pedal to try and get some room between us and have to scramble out of Fehr's way when he lunges at another of Jheghda's men. I crash into a table and scramble up and over it when Njande's sword comes slashing down. The clash of metal against metal is lost under the sounds of battle and I roll back under the table and lunge at his knees, tackling him to the ground.
He tries to sit up as I fumble with my knife, but we both slip in the blood coating the floor. He brings his knee up at my chin and my head snaps back, blood immediately filling my mouth. His sword flashes in the light and I shove wildly at his leg and wrap my free hand around his throat.
"No!"
"Line up, 14C-6."
My brothers and I fall into line behind the Overseer. There are men in the room, seated and chatting between themselves. The Overseer walks past us and we keep our heads respectfully lowered, our hands clasped together in front of us.
"These are the males from the 14C line," the Overseer says. "14C-6-1 through 7 are our sixth crop mean to better suit needs similar to yours."
"There are eight men here," one of the men says, his voice soft.
"6-8 here is a natural mutation. Normally, we sterilize mutations falling outside a certain tolerance of the genetic code, but every so often comes a mutation the geneticists want to cultivate."
"What's the mutation?"
I glance up even though I know I shouldn't, at the man with the honey-sweet voice, and catch his eyes.
"Oh," the man says. "Come here." His tone brooks no argument and I'm moving forward before I can tell myself to stop. There's a glass of dark wine in his hand, and his long black hair is bound in a braid over his shoulder. His eyes are completely, unrelentingly black. I've never seen eyes like that.
I drop to my knees in front of the man, close enough to touch. "What's your name?"
"We
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